


Twisted Valentine

by Quill_lumos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quill_lumos/pseuds/Quill_lumos
Summary: Valentine's Day was supposed to be of red posies and heart-shaped offerings, kisses and love-filled promises. It was not supposed to be like this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved. 

 

**Author’s Notes:** This was written for the Anti-Valentine fest 2009 at the Severus *sighs* yahoo group which can be found here http://groups.yahoo.com/group/severussighs/ . There are several other stories to read at the fest and a couple of lovely pieces of art. The group is devoted to all things Severus and there are plenty of recs and links, go on, go ahead and join, you know you want to!

Thanks to my darling Cyndie for casting her usual magic and so enhancing my ramblings *squishes Cyndie*

**~ Twisted Valentine ~**

He looked so very young and broken when Lucius Malfoy carried him out of that dark prison of horror, bringing him to safety after days of God-knows-what types of tortures. Malfoy, the consummate politician…I knew he cared _nothing_ for the Potter brat, never had, never would; but he knew that being the one to carry the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World out of that hellhole would help rehabilitate the Malfoy name amongst the wizarding public like nothing else possibly could. But, in all fairness, it is true that Malfoy was instrumental in helping me track Potter to a hidden cellar in the forest surrounding the elder Lestrange’s home. Although the culprits who hurt the boy had somehow managed to evade capture once again, it would do them no good…for I knew who they were.

They’d stolen him away almost three weeks after the last battle, and right under the noses of the Order, Hogwarts, and the Ministry, not to mention his numerous friends. No one was expecting it; after all, the Dark Lord had been defeated and the Death Eaters captured, well, most of them. Who would have thought Harry Potter could still be in danger – and yet, kidnapped he was…it took nineteen days to track him down.

Muggles call it catatonic stupor, the state Harry was in when he was found, and still is: immobile, unresponsive, unchanging, perpetually fixed in time.

 

***********

 

In the beginning, there was public outrage at what had been done to their hero and happy relief that he was found alive. Everyone believed that in time he would be okay. His friends were overjoyed at Potter’s return and one or more were with him at all times. Those _loyal_ Gryffindors sat by his bedside, pale and hollow-eyed, confident they could help in his recovery and determined that no villain would ever again steal their friend away. They developed a constant twenty-four hour guard, turn-by-turn around, never leaving him alone, talking and encouraging and pleading with him to get better. The Healers were there, too, trying their best with treatments and spells and potions. But Harry did not respond. 

Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, and still there was no change in the boy’s condition. Slowly but surely, the visits became less frequent until they hardly came at all. The threat of danger seemed gone and the hope of recovery was waning. The time came when their own lives called them back.

Weasley’s family apparently needed all their remaining sons close by to get through their grief.

Granger had to fly across the world to fetch her parents home.

Lovegood had to take care of her father.

Longbottom didn’t like to face me alone but still he came, till I forced him to stay away by foul temper and cruel words.

Around this same time the Healers declared there was nothing further they could do – so, when I finally took him from that impersonal hospital and carried him to my own home, there were no objections…none at all. Apparently, in the eyes of the wizarding world, he’d done his job, the boy hero; and now, no one cares enough to protest his fate. No one alive anyway. I would once have expected there to be a backlash, a protest when an ex-Death Eater claimed the Chosen One for his own; at the very least, I expected offers of help to aid in his care. But, there was no one…no one to care for him in anything like the way that I have done. 

“And that is what angers me most, that nobody came forward, no one who even wanted to try and help, not since your friends deserted their vigil. Invalids are hard work, Harry, and you can do nothing for yourself, nothing at all. I take care of you, feed you, wash you, wipe your arse, day after day. Such is my duty, my penance. Such is the gratitude of the Wizarding World for what you did, my Harry. Such is their regard for your sacrifice.” 

 

***********

 

So, he is mine. Mine to care for, mine to protect, mine to love.

By day I bathe him and clothe him and feed him and talk to him. At night I hold him when he wakes from one of his frequent nightmares, eyes wide open, mouth wide also, in a silent scream. I wonder, did his captors punish him for screaming? Or was it someone else who did that? I hold him when he’s frightened, close against me, my arms wrapped around him. I whisper soothing words, telling him he’s safe and has nothing to fear. I don’t think anyone has ever done such a thing for Harry before. But he doesn’t respond; he is locked away somewhere dark and lonely and very far from the light. 

Nevertheless, over time, gradually and by degrees, I have grown to love him. 

 

***********

 

“Month follows month, brat, and yet you do not change. Sometimes I think I see a glimpse of something in those vacant, green eyes, a flicker of life. Not for long, though, never for long. But, perhaps today, Harry – today is special and I have something for you.”

I eventually let the Gryffindors visit him again, when they came back from their various sojourns…and noticed him missing. Of course, not right way, only after I had decided that they had done penance long enough. They were angry, at first, when I wouldn’t let them see Harry, and then they became ashamed. I thought it was guilt that brought them, but they do care for him; I can see it in their eyes. Yes, they care – but not enough. It’s okay, though. They are so young; I forgot that. I think we all did when we let them fight our battles for us. They deserve a life. _Harry_ has become my life.

So, I took advantage of their return: while they sat with him, I took our revenge. I knew it probably wouldn’t bring Harry back, but it is what I needed to do. It was the Slytherin thing to do. I’m sure they know it is me, Harry’s friends, but they say nothing. Part of me suspects they almost approve of my vengeance. 

 

***********

 

I have come to know they love him, almost as much as I do. They are civil to me now. They bring casseroles from Molly Weasley and books on Dark spells, as if I should need such things. Granger worked it out, I think; she always was far too clever for her own good. Perhaps she just knew there was no one else capable of tracking down the Lestrange brothers and Vincent Crabbe senior, and the others, the less important ones, and making them pay? 

“And they did pay for what they did to you, Harry, with their blood and pain. Certainly no _Auror_ would have made them suffer as I did.

“Yes, they know, your Gryffindors, and yet they say nothing, do nothing to reveal what they know. The headlines in _The Prophet_ screamed about the deaths, the gruesome details; but you didn’t see them, my Harry, you couldn’t. I needed to do more, more to show you that you are safe now, that they can not hurt you ever again. Maybe you’ll come back to us when you know this to be true.”

I put the box into his hands, such small hands to have saved the world. “I have something for you that might help. This is the end, Harry,” I tell him. “They are all dead now, all of them. Today is Valentine’s Day, so this seemed an appropriate gift to give you.” I have to wrap his fingers around the box and hold them in place; he doesn’t respond, perhaps he never will again. But I know I have to try.

Valentine's Day is supposed to be of red posies and heart-shaped offerings, kisses and love-filled promises. It is not supposed to be like this. A twisted Valentine. But then those fools, with their parchment hearts and cheap little charms have never known the suffering that Harry has endured, that I have.

“It’s _his_ heart, Harry. Rabastan Lestrange’s, and he was the last of them, of your torturers. He died begging me for mercy, screaming in agony; they all did, but I never thought to bring evidence before now.” I lick my lips, needing to moisten them before I continue. “They told me that you didn’t break, didn’t beg, no matter what they did to you. Each one of them told me that, before I ended them. But then you never begged, did you, Harry, not ever? I _know_ , you see, because I am like you: never ask for what you know you will not be given……don’t give them the satisfaction.”

I lean closer, for this is too important to leave to chance. He needs to know this. I have to tell him everything.

“I took it from him; I ripped it from his chest while he was still alive, when it still pumped his blood. He died screaming as I tore his heart from his living body. I did it for you, Harry.”

I look down. At some point in the last few seconds I removed my hands from Harry’s but his hands have stayed in place. They have not moved, not fallen away as they usually would. Small, pale fingers are wrapped around the box. Finally one thumb moves along the rim, rippling the tissue. I gasp and look up at him and my eyes meet his, empty green pools that have stared vacantly at the world for such a long time. But, no! Something is different…something is stirring in those depths.

“Harry?” I breathe, hardly daring to hope.

Harry is mine. He has been mine since I first saw him as a scruffy eleven-year-old, no, wait, much longer than that – since _my_ actions caused the loss of his parents. I have looked after him, guarded him, _protected_ him. I have given everything for him and now _he belongs to me._

He has my heart, too. In fact, he has all of me. I am drawn in, sucked beneath the surface and trapped by those viridian depths… _Ensnared!_

“You’re safe now, Harry.”

I peer at him closely, examining every inch of that dear, dear face. I don’t want to miss any change of expression. I might see his expression come alive where others might not.

“I will never, ever let you be harmed again,” I tell him, my eyes locked on his eyes, my hands once again cradling his hands. If I did not know him so well, I would not have seen it at all, that brief curve of his lips, briefer than a blink, quicker than a heartbeat.

But I did see it and I rejoice!

He doesn’t speak; it is perhaps too early for that. But for me, at this precise moment in time, an almost smile is enough.

“Valentine's Day is supposed to be a day of red posies and heart-shaped offerings, kisses and love filled promises. But parchment hearts are not real hearts, not like the one I now hold. They tear too easily, are insubstantial, not like this heart: Solid, real, _tangible_. My promises and empty words have meant nothing. But this does, this organ, this sweetmeat, this evidence of a life ended, of a life ended by me – all for this purpose, to bring you back to me. It’s believable, isn’t it, Harry? The truth that you can hold in your hands. Truth that you can feel. Touch. Believe.”

He looks at me and then he looks back at the prize that I have given him. Even from this angle I can see him frown. He looks at me again, the frown still in place. There was a time when I would have refused to think anything about Potter adorable. But I am more honest these days. This time, when he looks at me, there is recognition in his eyes. Harry is back. I want to hold him, shout my joy to the heavens. But his awakening is fragile, I will not risk it; I shall take things slowly.

The frown stays in place and he cocks his head to one side. Recognition, independent movement, only long years of practice enables me to conceal my delight.

Harry’s lips form a word, but as yet there is no sound. _“Snape?”_

“They are all gone now, Harry.” I tell him gleefully, buoyed up by such a success, “Anyone who would hurt you, anyone who _could_ hurt you. I will take care of you, for always, for as long as you need me. You are safe, Harry. Safe at last.”

Those emerald eyes glisten, fill with emotion. Tears trail down cheeks that are yet too pale, that have not seen the sunlight for far too long. His breath hitches and he sighs deeply.

“Safe?” he asks me, so softly I can barely hear him. “Safe at last?”

I nod and enfold him in my arms. He does not resist, but leans into me, with an ease born of familiarity. And I, no longer able to hold back my joy, finally allow my own tears to fall.


End file.
